


Brave New World

by MKK



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Holodecks/Holosuites, Identity Reveal, Implied Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, Medical Procedures, Non-Consensual Tickling, Regret, Roleswap, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 04:43:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2374997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKK/pseuds/MKK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elim Garak has many motivations when he undergoes plastic surgery to temporarily change his appearance from Cardassian to human - chief among them the opportunity to anonymously even old scores.  But what he hadn't counted on was the reaction of those who know him best, particularly Julian Bashir.  He had also forgotten the old adage about being careful what you wish for...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story for a zine after pondering the fact that, in the world of Garak/Bashir stories, Andy always had it pretty easy, as Garak doesn't really look or even always sound like him, but Sid and Bashir looked and sounded very much alike, obviously! (Sid comes across in interviews as much more self-assured, but that's another story.) 
> 
> So I thought, what if Garak looked and sounded exactly like Andy for a whole, long, story? This was my attempt at such a story - if you're wondering, I kept picturing Garak as Andy looked when he played Larry (the good brother) in the film "Hellraiser"!  
> [Andy](http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=&imgrefurl=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.comicbookandmoviereviews.com%2F2012%2F08%2Fhellraiser.html&h=0&w=0&tbnid=cD3vBSikr5YZCM&zoom=1&tbnh=166&tbnw=304&docid=vFFdnNKKk9GhlM&tbm=isch&ei=isIoVIPWC4OryATo9YKQBA&ved=0CAcQsCUoAQ)
> 
> Having said all that, I must add the usual disclaimer, that characters in this story are not meant to represent any real people! Thank you for reading this - I loved writing it, but please don't take all the developments that occur too seriously - it was meant to be rather tongue-in-cheek!

"O brave new world, that has such people in't!"  
William Shakespeare, 'The Tempest,' Act V, Scene i 

He arrived at the replimat over thirty minutes early. Fine - he could wait; he could linger over a glass or two of rokossa juice until the lunchtime crowd began to file in. He HAD to arrive early - he had to be sure he got "their table." All the other tables would quickly fill, and he would find himself alone, with a chair waiting invitingly empty across from him. Then HE would come in, fill a tray, and head automatically for the table. The fact that someone had already selected it would normally be a deterrent to a shy young man such as he, but not at lunchtime, not here, with the casual atmosphere and no time to wait for another place to open up. "Mind if I join you?" he'd say with his polite smile, already sliding into the chair. "No, not at all." The face would be different, but the voice - the voice would still be the same. Would he raise his eyes in shock? Would he stammer, unable to speak? Would he be so intent on hurriedly devouring his food that he wouldn't even notice?

He pushed the thought away as he toyed with the glass. That left room, however, for the doubts which had been his constant companion for almost two weeks to assail him again. A silly thing, really, "elective plastic surgery." When there was no obvious need for it, when there had been no accident, no childhood scars or birthmarks, no aftereffects of a violent attack, it seemed frivolous to toy with one's appearance in that way. In fact, it seemed almost treasonous, disloyal at the very least - was it right to so totally abandon the heritage of one's race, one's people? No Cardassian who saw him now would ever suspect that he was really "one of them." How COULD they suspect? With his light brown human-style hair, his human forehead and nose and neck, even his pale beige-and-pink human coloring, he looked as if he had never set foot on Cardassia in his life. The truly ironic thing was that now, when he looked least like a Cardassian, he was finally able to return home and mingle with other Cardassians in safety and anonymity.

His body, at least below the scales that had been removed from the back of his neck, remained Cardassian. His chest, back, thighs, groin - they all still bore the distinctly reptilian pattern of scales and ridges that so distinguished Cardassian males. However, the patterns looked odd now, with their new tint - he couldn't be sure, but he even imagined that the outlines were fading somewhat, becoming indistinct. He wasn't worried; he had been told of the aftereffects of the hormone suppressors he was regularly taking. And yet... it was strange, noticing softer, smoother "human" skin where once there had been a rougher, leathery texture. The sensation was not entirely unpleasant.

He checked the chronometer for the twentieth time - only five or ten more minutes to wait now. Good. His heart began to pound in pleasant, yet fearful, anticipation. What would he think? Really now, that was the issue, wasn't it - what would his reaction be when he found out that his Cardassian lover had, for all intents and purposes, become his human lover? Would he be shocked? Afraid? Disgusted? Or perhaps - delightfully intrigued? Well, no matter, he firmly reminded himself, I did this for me, not for him. He had damned well better like me as I am - I haven't changed, not really. And it's not as if I've always found HIS "human-ness" offensive. He can learn to appreciate those things about my new appearance that I've always appreciated in him. Still... what if he finds me - unattractive now? Panic threatened to destroy his hard-won confidence, so he jumped to his feet and quickly purchased a meal for himself, a meal he found impossible to enjoy. The replimat was crowded; in fact, it was as he predicted, it was OVERcrowded, and diners had begun to claim any available seat. "No, sorry, I'm waiting for someone," he said to a pleasant Bajoran woman who had hesitantly approached his table. 'Interesting,' he thought, 'I'm usually shunned like the plague, the only Cardassian on this station-' He smiled. This new appearance would indeed take some getting used to.

He began to fidget nervously - it was now a good five minutes past the time they usually met for lunch. Where was he? Perhaps the replimat wasn't a part of his normal routine at all, when he was alone. Perhaps - no, there he was; he had taken his place at the end of the line. Elim Garak's heart began to pound so furiously that he was afraid others would be able to hear it. Good - he was placing dishes of food on his tray. Good - he was leaving the counter, making his way uncertainly among the crowded tables, heading directly for him. Garak thought his heart would stop; he lowered his head and pretended to be absorbed in his meal.

"Excuse me - do you mind if I join you?"

He shook his head mutely, keeping his face down. Julian Bashir set his tray on the table and gracefully settled into the chair. He began to eat, then raised his eyes to his companion and politely began, "It's always so crowded in here at lunchtime - I do apologize for having to share your table." He smiled. Garak glanced up at him and smiled too, before concentrating once more on his soup. Bashir ate in silence for a moment, then began again, "Are you here visiting DS9?"

Garak froze and then quietly replied, "No, I live here." His spoon was poised, motionless, over the bowl as he waited for Bashir's next words.

"LIVE here? But I don't think I've ever met you before. I'm Julian Bashir, by the way, chief medical officer of this station." He extended his hand; Garak took it and held it, then remembered to shake it. Bashir withdrew the hand uncertainly and continued to stare at him with frank curiosity. "Where do you work, may I ask?"

This was it. Garak felt his mouth go dry. This was the long-awaited moment of revelation, if only his heart could take the strain. He paused, raised his eyes to Bashir, opened his mouth to speak - but no words came out. He blinked and tried again, tilting his head down to avoid the unwavering gaze. "Actually..." he said, in as close to his normal tone of voice as he could manage, "I operate a clothing shop on the Promenade." He slowly raised his eyes again till they locked with Bashir's.

The young man stared, speechless, his mouth hanging open, his hands resting on either side of the tray. It seemed as if a full minute went by, perhaps even two, before he spoke again. "You're - you're - " he stammered, unable to say the name. "How did you - WHY did you - I thought you were off on some BUSINESS TRIP!" He looked as if he were about to cry. Garak smiled gently.

"It WAS a business trip, in a way. You can't deny that 'subduing' my usual Cardassian appearance won't do me much harm here." His tone, he knew, was slightly mocking, but it was a natural defense against the rush of emotions that were threatening to engulf him. Please, Julian, don't look so shocked, please say it's all right that I did this -

Bashir had tentatively placed both of his hands on Garak's face, his thumbs resting on his cheeks while his fingers traced the areas around the eyes that had formerly been surrounded by scaly ridges. His face held a look of wonderment and surprise; not shock, and certainly not disgust, but not the pleasant acceptance Garak was hoping for, either. He gently probed the hollows around the eyes and behind the ears, his touch clinical like a doctor's, not tender, as a lover's would be. Garak, noticing that attention was beginning to be drawn to their table, pulled back slightly.

"Doctor - don't forget, no one else knows why you're doing this." Bashir, still in a daze, dropped his hands from Garak's face. The two men continued to stare at each other, their lunch forgotten. Finally Bashir spoke.

"This - this is really excellent work. Even the skin tones are just right." He paused, as if in thought. "Really quite amazing... Vulcan, I suppose?"

"Of course," Garak smiled. The Vulcans had become the unquestioned medical experts of the Federation, and Garak's vanity would permit nothing less than the best. "It was not - inexpensive, doctor."

"No, I suppose not." His nearly unblinking stare was finally beginning to make Garak uncomfortable.

"Perhaps we should leave here and go back to- "

"The infirmary. Yes, I was just going to suggest that." He rose. Garak had been about to say "my quarters," but no matter, in the doctor's presently stunned condition, the infirmary was probably a more logical place. The two men carried their trays to the disposal bin, then hurried out of the replimat, walking rapidly and in silence down the corridor. Bashir kept stealing sidelong glances at Garak as his "human" companion did his best to ignore them; eventually, Bashir's curiosity got the better of him.

"So - does anyone else know?"

"About the surgery? No. I'm sure Constable Odo is aware that I had left the station for two weeks, but beyond that... " His voice trailed off.

"Hmm." Bashir was lost in a haze of speculation - what would Captain Sisko say? Would he assume this was some new nefarious scheme of Garak's, to inflitrate Starfleet or - who knows? Would he order Garak off the station for this? The thought was alarming. And what about the Bajorans on the station - surely when a "human" who sounded exactly like Garak and even LOOKED slightly like him took over Garak's shop, they'd be able to put two and two together and raise a protest themselves. Or would they instead think he had capitulated in some way, and they had managed to "assimilate" him? He had no way of determining that - he had been surrounded by Bajorans for several years but really didn't feel he knew the Bajoran mind terribly well. Maybe Kira's reaction would be a good indication...

They reached the door of the infirmary and Bashir beckoned Garak inside. A nurse briefly looked up at their entrance but then returned to her work. "I'll be using an examination room for a physical," Bashir told her. "Please see that I'm not disturbed."

"Of course, doctor."

He led Garak into the small room and closed the door, then went to retrieve a tricorder and pretended to be absorbed in the process of adjusting it. It was difficult, facing this "stranger" who pretended to be Garak - no, it IS Garak, he corrected himself, it IS him. But the mild human face staring back at him did nothing to ease his discomfort; he would rather have faced Gul Dukat's stern Cardassian visage, or Worf's Klingon face. He was familiar with them, and in fact had grown quite accustomed to them during his time on DS9. Garak's features had always impressed him as gentler, less harsh than those of other Cardassians - it was probably a combination of his lighter blue eyes and his somewhat more "human" mannerisms - He froze. Was THIS what Garak had always wanted, then, to be like HIM? No, it was impossible - he had never professed anything but pride in his people and his Cardassian heritage. The regret he felt at his exile from Cardassia was genuine, and in fact was so deeply painful that Bashir avoided the subject whenever possible, out of fear of hurting him. So perhaps THAT was the reason for this...

He took a thin blue robe out of a drawer in the cabinet, and turned back toward Garak with a smile. "Here - you may want to put this on. I know it's a little cold in here for you, and anyway, most of my patients like to preserve their modesty." Garak stared at the robe but made no move to take it.

"Doctor, I really don't think this is necessary - I assure you, I'm unchanged below the neck; I thought you just wanted to examine my face in privacy."

"I doubt if you're as unchanged as you say, Garak, based on the obvious success of your surgery. Besides, you've undergone a fairly radical operation and I would feel much better if I could do a thorough physical exam." He tried to suppress a smile; ever since their relationship had become more intimate, Garak avoided his office assiduously - he evidently shared the view, held by other Cardassians in Bashir's experience, that it was not possible for a doctor to completely separate his personal and his professional demeanors. Perhaps it was because Cardassians were such overwhelmingly sexual beings, Bashir reflected, as well as overwhelmingly dominant - stripping and then being forced to submit to any kind of physical contact must be very, very difficult. He sympathized with Garak even as he wondered whether indeed it was his personal rather than his professional curiosity that he wished to appease this time. Or, in Garak's case, were they one and the same thing?

"Can't you just run a tricorder over me?" 

Bashir laughed out loud.


	2. Chapter 2

"Please, Garak, that's not a real examination and you know it - that's only to locate disease or injury. You've undergone a very dramatic physical change and I need to revise the information I have. It's all completely confidential, I assure you."

"It's not so very dramatic," Garak said, as he began unfastening his human-styled shirt. "My body temperature is unchanged, my skeleton is completely unaltered except for the ridges on the face and neck -"

"And even those are largely cartilage, I know," Bashir answered. "But surely there must be some major adjustment to your cellular regeneration, for example - if you're injured on your neck, let us say, won't the body try to repair the original Cardassian tissue?"

"In theory, I suppose," Garak said; his shirt was completely removed now, and Bashir gaped despite himself at the human-flesh-toned Cardassian ridges on his chest. Interesting. "But that's why I am following a strict regimen of hormone suppressing medication - my body has been fooled into thinking that THIS is its normal appearance." He smiled; he too had looked down and noticed the pinkish rather than dark gray nipples. "As for the skin pigmentation - well, in order to have it appear authentic, the doctors had no choice but to extend it over my entire body. It too is partially governed by medication."

"Seems an awful lot of trouble to go through - a lot of medicine to be forced to take." Would Garak answer the implied question he was asking? He waited.

"I can understand that you might think so, but believe me, doctor, the rewards will far outweigh any inconveniences to me." He had removed his trousers and was now sitting on the edge of the examination table wearing only his underwear and socks. Bashir handed him the robe and he slipped it on over his shoulders, then sat and silently regarded him.

'Great,' Bashir thought, 'if I insist he continue, he'll think it's only out of prurient curiosity - if I DON'T continue, it won't be a very thorough exam.' "Ah, Garak," he said, "you can finish undressing." Garak glared at him, but the glare was strangely unthreatening now, without the menacing Cardassian eyeridges to shadow his face and highlight his expression.

"All right, doctor, if it will make you happy," Garak said resignedly, pulling his briefs off underneath the robe. Bashir was about to protest the choice of words, but kept silent - it seemed a little silly for a doctor to get into such a childish argument with a patient. He turned back to the tricorder, and inadvertantly began programming it for human lifesigns before he caught himself. This wasn't a human he was examining, this was a Cardassian who had simply undergone a little "reconstructive surgery." Fine - he had examined Cardassians before, even Garak.

And yet, it wasn't Garak - the examination did not go smoothly. Bashir was uncharacteristically shy and unsure of himself; he felt like a first-year medical student again, almost, and the fact that Garak, awkward about his new appearance, seemed inclined to be more maddeningly obtuse than usual did not help at all. After he had finished, Bashir pretended to be busily entering notes into his patient file. Garak, unnoticed, appeared behind him and put both arms around his waist.

"Garak!" He nearly dropped the padd in his surprise.

"Yes, doctor? I had assumed your 'examination' was complete." He began to gently kiss the back of Bashir's neck.

"Well, yes, but - but I don't like to do this kind of thing here."

"Oh? Since when?" Since the time you took Garak's place, an hour ago, Bashir thought. Since the time a completely unfamiliar human male decided to start kissing me in my examination room -

"Garak, please!" He pulled away, anger finally beginning to well up inside of him. "I don't want this now - forgive me, but I need at least a LITTLE time to get used to the fact that you, all alone and without so much as mentioning it to me, did THIS." He paused, breathing heavily with emotion.

"Did what?" Damn that incessant game-playing of his, Bashir thought.

"Did THIS! THIS!" He placed his hands on either side of Garak's face and spread his fingers wide over the area where the eye and forehead ridges had formerly been. The smooth skin felt surprisingly pleasant, he reflected once again - but, no, that wasn't the issue now and he was not going to be distracted. "Garak, you're completely different! Completely!"

"For a Starfleet doctor, you can certainly sound extremely - uneducated - sometimes. Surely the results of this exam you insisted on prove that I'm hardly changed." He began angrily pulling up his trousers.

"Well, why did you do it, then? If it hardly changed you, that is? Why did you bother at all?"

"You wouldn't understand." Oh, perfect, Bashir thought, a perfect 'Garak' answer, which revealed nothing and only served to put the other person on the defensive. Yes, it MUST still be him after all.

"No, I guess I wouldn't," he agreed. "If you'll excuse me, Garak, the exam is over and I have to get back to work." Garak had finished dressing, nodded to him curtly, and left the room. Bashir rested his head on his arms and sighed loudly. He felt like crying - this was not the way he wanted the afternoon to end, not at all. He had so many things to say to Garak, so many things to ask him; he was, after all, Bashir's best friend on the station and the two-week absence had been somewhat difficult. But now it was all destroyed, all because of some silly, expensive whim in which he felt the need to indulge himself... Fine. I ought to become Cardassian, Bashir thought glumly, I ought to sneak up on HIM in the replimat, tell him I'm Gul Bashir, chief medical officer of DS9, and see how HE handles it... He smiled despite himself.

At the opposite end of the station, Garak was glumly sorting through bolts of material in the workroom of his shop. Stupid job, he thought, stupid station, stupid day, stupid LIFE - he disgustedly tore a piece of cloth into little strips and flung them away from him. They floated down onto the carpeted floor; as he bent to gather them up again, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror mounted along one wall. The sight mesmerized him, and he sank to the ground and began running his fingers all over his face, exactly the way Bashir had done an hour earlier. He smiled - Bashir had run his fingers all over something else as well; the good doctor's constant struggles to maintain a professional demeanor around him were laughable at best, Garak reflected. Perhaps if they were more rather than less intimate, if Bashir were not still so awkward with him, such things would go more smoothly and naturally. Still, he thought, it must have been unnerving for Bashir to suddenly discover his new appearance in such a shocking way. 'I suppose I should have warned him, contacted him from Vulcan or some such thing.' No matter - they had plenty of time now to get used to one another.

Six months, anyway - Garak had been warned that after eight months or so, the hormone suppressors would begin to harm his chances for a completely successful Cardassian "reconstruction." Well, he had no intention of remaining 'human' for longer than six months, just long enough to return to Cardassia a few times, settle some old debts, enjoy the unaccustomed freedom of his new appearance as a sort of vacation, and then reclaim his much-cherished Cardassian visage.

Someone had signaled him and was waiting at the locked door of his shop. He looked out of the workroom and saw, through the clear panels in the door, Security Chief Odo standing impatiently in the corridor. Mentally steeling himself, he strode forward and unlocked the door.

"Excuse me," Odo said politely as Garak opened the door, "I'm here to see Mister Garak. Is he here?" Garak stared at him, openmouthed with shock - Odo had never joked with him in his life; could this actually be an example of Changeling humor? Or - could it be that Odo, chief of security for the entire station, actually didn't recognize him? It was most likely the latter, he decided, as Odo's expressionless face seemed even more expressionless than usual. "I'll - I'll go get him for you," Garak stammered, creeping back toward the workroom, his eyes fixed on Odo all the while.

He waited inside the room for a moment, composing his thoughts, then purposefully strode back out into the shop, calling up the slightly obsequious smile he always wore when confronting a new and uncertain situation. "Why, Odo! So nice of you to drop in!"

It was Odo's turn to stare openmouthed in shock. The moment didn't last long, however, and he was once more the acerbic constable and one of Garak's personal favorites on the station as a result. "Do you mind telling me the meaning of this?"

"The meaning of what?"

"Don't play dumb with me, Garak - it doesn't suit you. You were gone for two weeks, and I learned that just this morning you returned on a Vulcan science vessel. I asked myself why you, of all people, would be tagging along on a Vulcan ship, so I came to hear your explanation - assuming I'd actually get one. And then I find this. My question is - WHY?"

Garak swallowed. "It's really not something with which I thought you concerned yourself, the personal business of station inhabitants. And it IS personal, Constable. I certainly don't feel I need to explain a little plastic surgery to you or to anyone."

"A little plastic surgery?!" Odo exclaimed. "Garak, you've gone from Cardassian to human in two weeks and you call that a LITTLE plastic surgery? Just what are you up to?" He sidled closer to Garak and stared into his face; Garak pulled back slightly.

"Odo, really! I'm no more human than YOU are - I simply made a temporary change in my facial features -"

"For what purpose?"

"It's not important - call it a vacation, if you will. I wanted to find out what it was like to be accepted here on this station, to be treated with dignity and respect and not as some horrible, vicious animal the Bajorans are allowing inside their home. I wanted to be free, Constable." Odo was unmoved.

"And I suppose the fact that you can now travel back to Cardassia with what amounts to the perfect disguise has nothing to do with it?"

"I have no travel documents for Cardassia," Garak replied indignantly.

"Oh come now, Garak - I'm sure you, of all people, know how to forge some." He stared silently at Garak for a moment more, then sighed. "Well, I won't keep you from your work... Mister Garak. But I want you to know I'll be keeping my eye on you - there are those who won't know who you are and I won't allow you to take advantage of that fact." Garak bowed slightly. "Oh, and I WILL be alerting Captain Sisko to this new change in your appearance." He was gone; Garak watched him disappear around a bend in the corridor. It was just like Odo to make everyone else's business HIS business. Garak locked the door and returned to his workroom and his thoughts.

His stomach finally told him it was time to quit. He had gotten very little work done, but business had been slow before his trip to Vulcan and so there was not an enormous backlog of work to catch up on, either. He let himself out of the shop and headed disconsolately over to Quark's. It was not his usual supper destination, but he knew there was the possibility of running into Bashir in the replimat, while his own quarters seemed a little too lonely after such an unsettling day. So he claimed a small  
table on the upper level in the busy tavern and waited for Rom to come and take his order.

"Good evening, sir! What can I get for you?"

"Let's see - I understand the sem'hal stew is quite good here - I'll have an order of that, two servings of tojal and a taspar egg. Boiled." Rom hadn't even begun to enter the order in his padd; he was too busy staring. 

"And - and to drink?" he managed at last.

"A glass of kanaar, of course." Rom had been mouthing the "kanaar" along with Garak; he finally gave up all pretense of recording the order, and let the padd drop to his side.

"That's an unusual order, sir."

"Is it?"

"Yes - in fact, I don't think a hoo-man has ever ordered quite that meal before."

"I'm not a - well, I mean, I'm a human with rather - Cardassian tastes, shall we say?" Rom nodded, unconvinced; Garak began to feel a little impatience with the Ferengi's annoying stares. "Is something the matter?" he finally asked him, irritated.

"No... no, not exactly, sir, it's just that, you see, I don't think those particular foods can be digested properly in that quantity by hoo-mans."

Garak sighed loudly. "Just let me be the judge of that, all right?" Rom nodded uncertainly and ran off, either to fill the order or to botch it, Garak reflected. When his meal finally arrived, in approximately the form he had ordered it, he attacked it with a flourish; he hadn't been aware of just how hungry he was, brooding over his new appearance all day in his shop. Thus, he didn't notice Bashir quietly enter the lower level of Quark's and take a seat at the bar, looking up at him. He also didn't notice the brightly and rather gaudily dressed Bajoran woman who had been drinking at another table, watched the human enjoying the Cardassian meal, and approached him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Excuse me."

"Hmm?" Garak looked up, his mouth full of stew, and swallowed. "Yes? Can I do something for you?"

The woman smiled in a charming but insincere manner, then pulled out a chair across from Garak and sat down. "Actually, I was very curious about you - I noticed you ordered all that Cardassian food, and I was just wondering why. Even during the occupation, I never developed much of a taste for it!" She laughed; Garak attempted a halfhearted laugh as well.

"It's actually quite tasty and nutritious." He stared at her, puzzled; no one EVER approached him during any of his meals alone at Quark's or the replimat, least of all Bajorans - least of all what appeared to be this TYPE of Bajoran. He waited. The woman laughed again, a rather annoying sound.

"No doubt. As I said, I never could develop a taste for it." She placed her elbows on the table and leaned across it, her eyes locking with Garak's. "What are you doing after dinner?"

"Doing? After dinner?"

"Yes, silly! I assume you're new here; I come to Quark's a lot and I've never seen you before. I was thinking that we could get to know each other, become friends." Garak gulped.

"Ah. And just how much will this - friendship - cost me?" He instantly regretted the remark; what if he had misjudged the situation? He never experienced things like this on DS9; how did one properly interpret such overtures?

"Now that's something I don't usually like to discuss here at Quark's." No, he hadn't misjudged the situation. "However, since you're new here and all, how about - ten strips?"

"Ten strips of latinum?" Garak began to laugh, incredulous. The woman was practically offering herself to him, a Cardassian, for free. During one of his more melancholy evenings on the station, when he doubted if he would ever enjoy the friendship and companionship of Bashir or anyone else in the universe, for that matter, he had approached a woman very much like this one and asked her a similar question. She had stared at him in horror, then consented to a price of one hundred strips but only if she could retain the priviledge of changing her mind at any time. Garak, humiliated, had angrily backed out of the 'arrangement.' He smiled - Bashir had been so kind later, when Garak had sheepishly confessed his little transgression to him. "She probably meant she was willing to pay YOU a hundred strips!" he had laughed. Thinking of that evening made him miss his friend more than ever. He sighed.

"What's the matter - is it too much? How about eight?"

"What?" Garak turned his attention back to the woman. "Oh - oh, yes, fine, eight it is." He smiled. "Well, I think I've finished here - shall we go? Miss -"

"Just call me Jemma." She hooked her arm through his and descended the stairs with him. Neither of them noticed the Starfleet doctor angrily watching the entire 'transaction' at the bar.

'That son of a bitch,' Bashir fumed, 'first chance he gets, he's trying out his new face on that Bajoran prost- No, relax, maybe he knows her from the shop and they're just going back there.' He rose and followed them at a discreet distance; they walked right past the shop and continued in the direction of the habitat ring. 'That miserable son of a bitch,' Bashir thought again. 'I'll perform a little surgery of my OWN on him the next time I see him...' Garak and his new 'companion' had disappeared around a corner.

The woman's quarters were plush and overdone, in a style Garak found extremely distasteful. The air was thick with a perfumelike scent that his Cardassian nose, in addition, could barely tolerate. But it was better to come here, where he could make his planned getaway, than to bring her to his Cardassian-style quarters and be trapped with her there. He allowed himself to be pushed down onto the sofa. "Can I get you anything?" she called over her shoulder, as she walked into the bedroom.

"No - no thank you," he said, rearranging some of the objects that had been carelessly strewn across the table - his Cardassian mind loved order and symmetry.

"Are you sure? You wouldn't like a glass of kanaar, maybe?" She laughed. Garak managed a weak laugh in return, out of courtesy.

"Yes, now that you mention it, a glass of kanaar does sound most - refreshing."

"Well, help yourself. I'm serious, you are the most unusual human I've ever met in Quark's. Even some CARDASSIANS don't always like those particular foods. Too hard to digest." She emerged from the bedroom, dressed in a long blue-green tunic that shone in the light; Garak found it rather attractive after all. He took his kanaar from the replicator and allowed Jemma to lead him back to the sofa.

"Do you - do you, ah, 'meet' many Cardassians at Quark's?" He sipped his drink.

"A few. But I never bring them here - they give me the creeps. I could have made a lot of money during the occupation - if you'll pardon me for saying so - but I could never get used to those scales. They've got them EVERYWHERE, if you get my meaning. Oh, and what some of my friends used to tell me about Cardassian men! It's always 'yes, sir' this and 'no, sir' that - I suppose their own women aren't subservient enough for them." She shuddered.

"Well, perhaps it's just a - game - they like to play; you know, to make things a little more 'enjoyable,' shall we say?" He couldn't quite believe the current topic of conversation - his own scales on his chest had begun to flare with arousal and scraped uncomfortably against his shirt. So much for his plan to drink and run - 

"Then they can play their 'games' with someone else. That's why I like to make friends with humans and Bajorans, mostly - oh, and some Ferengi once in a while -" She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "And anyway, we're not here to talk about me, we're here to talk about YOU. What's your name?" She leaned against Garak and placed her chin on his shoulder. He flinched.

"I'm... ah... "

"Oh, it's all right, I understand," she smiled. "No names tonight then. Do you want to listen to some music?"

"Yes, that would be very nice - Jemma." He smiled at her; she returned the smile and smoothly leaned toward the opposite end of the sofa, pressing two buttons on a small control pad there. The lights dimmed as the room filled with the sound of a Bajoran harp, a sound Garak had always found particularly irritating. He attempted to ignore the annoying 'plinking' noise as Jemma once again leaned lightly against him, her arm casually resting behind him, across the back of the sofa. He shifted forward. "So!" he began, brightly, "how long have you lived here on DS9?"

"Long enough." She drew her legs up underneath her. "Don't get me wrong, I like it here, I like all the activity and the chance to meet new people... but it's getting harder and harder to make a living, with Constable Odo practically breathing down my neck all the time. He's getting more persistent every day. Good thing I have Quark to watch out for me."

Garak swallowed. "Quark - Quark, ah, 'employs' you?"

"Sort of. Call it a mutual arrangement." She leaned closer and pulled Garak against the back of the sofa, while her free hand began tracing a line down the front of his chest. Garak panicked - sooner or later, and most probably sooner, Quark would HAVE to find out about his new appearance, and also recall the fact that he had enjoyed Jemma's 'company' for an evening... it was too humiliating, to be indebted to Quark for any reason whatsoever. He tried to stand, but Jemma had begun unfastening his shirt, kissing his chest through the thick fabric as she did so. 

"Miss- Miss- I mean, Jemma," he stammered, but she had slid her hand underneath his opened shirt and encountered the scale-covered ridge that ran above the nipples. Even in the semi-darkness, the feel of bristling Cardassian scales would be difficult to ignore.

"OH MY GOD!! What IS that?" she screamed, rearing backward. "Wait! I KNOW what that is! You're a Cardassian! You bastard, you're a Cardassian! You're a spy or something!" Garak attempted to placate her, but she pushed him away as if his touch burned. "Get out! Do you hear me? Get OUT! I KNEW something was wrong, as soon as I saw you eating that Cardassian garbage! I KNEW I should have left you alone!" She began to cry. "But you looked so damned CUTE, sitting there by yourself. And this is what I get for it - I get to be a Cardassian's whore again, just like during the occupation." Garak had reached the door, but the woman's tears moved him and he paused there uncertainly.

"Ah, Jemma-"

"Get OUT!" She aimed a piece of pottery at him, which he quickly dodged.

"I'm still willing to - compensate you - for your time -" At that, Jemma screamed and lunged out of the sofa; Garak slid through the doorway and ran down the corridor in the direction of his quarters, pausing every few seconds to make sure he wasn't being followed. He reached his own room and let himself inside, then nearly jumped out of his skin at Bashir's voice from the shadows.

"Did you have a good time?"

"Wh... what?" Bashir had been sitting on the sofa, a cup of tea on the table in front of him. He rose smoothly and approached Garak.

"I said, did you have a good time?" His voice was pleasant but, even in the dim lighting, Garak could see his eyes glittering coldly.

"Julian," he panted, still out of breath from his run, "I did NOT go there to 'have a good time,' as you put it. I was just - curious."

"So I can assume, then, that your 'curiosity' has been amply satisfied. You're still quite winded, my friend - she must have been very energetic." He stood and regarded Garak expectantly.

"She was nothing of the kind - she discovered I was Cardassian and threw me out." He saw a smile tugging the corners of Bashir's mouth. Good. "She approached ME, in Quark's - I only went along with her because I had never experienced anything like that before. I had no intention of remaining there for - for -"

"I see. You just wanted some expensive conversation, then." Bashir folded his arms; his tone had become a little less hostile, Garak gratefully observed.

"It wasn't so very expensive, doctor. In fact, she lowered the price without me even asking her to." Bashir laughed, and Garak finally allowed himself to begin relaxing.

"Well, see that you don't engage in 'conversation' with her too often, Garak. That's Jemma, also known as 'Gem;' she's a fairly regular customer of MINE, for reasons I should not and do not need to tell you. You wouldn't want to bring ME a little souvenir from your visit with HER, now would you?" Garak stared at him - could he really be implying that he was going to stay? "I'm tired, Garak - I think I'll take a quick shower and - go to bed." He WAS implying that; he hadn't said "go back to my quarters" before either the shower or the bed. Garak nodded, his thoughts racing, as Bashir disappeared into the bathroom. 'What does he want me to do?' he thought. His relationship with the doctor was still so new that he was uncertain of how to act around him, what privileges he could claim. As a Cardassian male, his instinct was always to fight for what he wanted and then rejoice, successful, in his prize. But he sensed from the first that the human male wouldn't take kindly to being treated in such a manner; there was his ego to consider, and his human pride. So Garak hung back and waited for Bashir to make his own wishes known, as a rule. Still, those wishes were sometimes not boldly stated; was this one of those times? Garak began to long for a way to comfortably assume a less considerate and more demanding role.

He heard the sound of the shower; surely Bashir wouldn't have waited for him for an hour, alone in his quarters, only to shower alone as well. Then, too, he had chosen a water rather than a sonic shower, something that he always did when he expected Garak to join him. So - it was settled. Garak quickly stripped and stepped into the bathroom, then opened the door of the cubicle. Bashir gasped in surprise.

"Is something the matter?" Garak asked, uncertainly. "Weren't you expecting me?"

"Oh, no, no, it's not that - it's just that I didn't know who you were for a second. It's all right!" He reached for Garak, who pulled away slightly.

"Does my new appearance - bother you?"

"No, absolutely not - you're really very handsome as a human, didn't I tell you that?" He smiled and reached again for Garak, pulling him against him under the spray of water. Garak became suddenly thoughtful.

"Julian - would you say I'm... 'cute'?"


	4. Chapter 4

Bashir laughed. "Yes, I guess so! Yes, you're cute! Who told you that, anyway? Jemma?" Garak nodded. "Well, she's right - but that's really a word that women use more than men. But, yes, the Vulcans did quite a good job with your face. A VERY good job." He grasped Garak's face in his hands and kissed him on the lips, pulling his head under the jets of water as he did so. Something fell into Garak's eyes and he reached up, alarmed, and began madly running his fingers through his wet hair. Bashir laughed again. "That's your new hair, Garak! It's much lower on your forehead now - when it gets wet, it'll flatten out like that." He began to run his fingers through it as well. "It's really very nice, this transplant. Very, very natural. Oh, and I suppose you'll have to come along with me for my haircuts now - it'll grow a lot faster than Cardassian hair, I should think." He felt Garak's face with the back of his fingers. "Hmm... I can't tell yet if you'll need to shave or not... you're still quite smooth..."

Garak smiled but remained thoughtful. All these details, all these seemingly insignificant things like hair length - he'd just barely get used to them all and it would be time to become 'Cardassian' again. He almost regretted the timetable he had been given by the Vulcan doctors. Then again, it was difficult, being 'human' - he hadn't wanted to tell Bashir, but the water was now uncomfortably hot for him in the shower; he supposed the hormone suppressors were also suppressing a few other Cardassian characteristics. He had been told his body temperature wouldn't change, but the experience of the shower seemed to be contradicting that as well. For the first time, he began to worry about something other than reactions to his new appearance - was it possible that a change this dramatic WOULD affect him in ways he couldn't anticipate?

He was almost grateful for the shower to end and to be able to dry his uncomfortably wet hair - how did humans ever get used to such an unpleasant sensation right against their faces? Then he climbed into bed, naked, next to Bashir, and pulled the young man against his chest. Julian smiled as he rubbed his face against the scales that had so offended Jemma earlier. "You know, Garak, I could almost swear that these are getting a little softer. Well, maybe it's just the hot shower." Garak rubbed the back of Bashir's neck absently, his mind again in a turmoil. He suddenly became aware of another turmoil as well, in his stomach - the Cardassian foods he had eaten earlier, and which both Rom and Jemma had warned him would be difficult to digest, had proven in fact, to be just that, after all. Totally amazed at the new and unfortunate development, he apologized to Bashir and sprinted out of bed and back to the bathroom.

 

"Garak, don't worry, I'm not angry." Bashir smiled to himself as he handed the Cardassian a datapadd. "Here - this contains a list of the foods that I've determined will be a little safer for you to eat now. Oh, and maybe you should stay away from kanaar for a while, too, just to be sure." Garak studied the list unhappily.

"Oatmeal - chicken broth - rice pudding - Doctor, do you have any idea how bland most of this sounds?" Bashir laughed. "And my body is NOT human, I'm sure you remember - I need more meat than this, more protein."

"You'll get plenty of protein if you follow these recommendations. Don't forget, your body may be Cardassian but it's also being fooled into thinking it's human at the same time. You'd better be more careful from now on - that is, unless you want to spend the night in the bathroom for the next six months."

"Yes, I'm sorry about that." He sighed. "All right, doctor, I'll try eating like a human for a while; I won't try to pretend I'm happy about it, though." Bashir grinned at him.

"Are you free for lunch?"

"An early lunch, yes. Then I promised Chief O'Brien that I'd meet him again in the holosuites. He... hasn't seen me yet, but you've already told him about the surgery, correct?"

Bashir nodded. "I'm glad you're both getting to know one another at last, Garak. My two best friends, and I was always afraid that you couldn't even stand the sight of each other."

"Well, the chief's - antipathy - toward Cardassians was certainly enough to keep me away, you must admit." He walked with Bashir toward the door. "But you're right - the holosuites have been very helpful in giving us a way to 'lose our identities' for a time, shall we say?"

"I'm glad to hear that. He needs another friend, and so do you. What sort of scenarios have you been acting out, anyway?"

Garak sighed again. "I'm invariably a police officer or a detective, always chasing after O'Brien, the master spy or jewel thief or kidnapper or something." At Bashir's smile, he continued, "I suppose it's a way for him to enjoy a little rebellious excitement now and then. And it DOES keep me sharp, I must say - especially since I'm able to outwit him at least ninety-nine percent of the time." Bashir looked surprised.

"Well, watch out, he may be working on changing those odds. See you at lunch." He glanced furtively at the nurse, then kissed Garak quickly on the mouth and smiled reassuringly at him. Garak gaped at him in shock. Bashir had never publicly kissed him in his life; he had always been petrified at the very idea. The 'new face' seemed to be breaking down a lot of barriers, among humans as well as Bajorans like Jemma. Interesting.

 

No, this was NOT fun after all. It had begun so promisingly. "Tell you what, Garak," O'Brien had said, still staring at him with unabashed curiosity, "in honor of your new - 'appearance,' let's change the game a little bit. Let's have ME be the detective and YOU be the kidnapper."

"Fine," Garak had replied, and the 'adventure' had begun. O'Brien had chased him mercilessly through the streets of the Earth city; every time Garak thought he had lost him, outwitted him, O'Brien was back with a vengeance. Garak found himself getting winded much too soon, in addition - a climb that would barely have affected him before now caused him to lean against the wall, gasping for air. And now O'Brien had cornered him, at the bank of a river - Garak did NOT want to be pushed in but found little chance for escape from the situation, either. O'Brien was holding an old Earth-style projectile weapon; it would of course not kill Garak, but it WOULD transmit a rather painful energy jolt if O'Brien actually decided to use it. Such was the price the two men paid for added realism. Garak faced his pursuer and tried to summon up a cocky grin, even as his heart pounded from exertion and the humiliation of defeat in this little contest. O'Brien trained the weapon on him and began a speech in his musical Irish brogue, a speech he had obviously been hoping to use for quite a long time.

"I know what you're thinking - did he fire six shots or only five? Well, I tell you the truth - in all this excitement, I've kind of lost track myself." It was five, Garak remembered unhappily, it was five - I can still be blasted into the river if he fires. O'Brien continued - "But being this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself one question: 'do I feel lucky?'" Garak waited, barely breathing. "Well, DO you, punk?" Garak blinked - "'Punk'?" He began to move toward O'Brien, who pulled the trigger.

Damn - he had actually done it, he had actually fired the weapon and pushed him into the river. Garak rose to the surface, then gratefully grabbed hold of the hand O'Brien had extended to him. O'Brien grinned sheepishly. "Sorry... I didn't really remember MYSELF how many shots I had fired!" Garak glanced at him, irritated, and struggled to calm himself - this WAS only supposed to be a game, after all. Still, he had never known O'Brien to be quite so daring with him, quite so confident in his own abilities. It was as if the loss of Garak's formerly Cardassian appearance also meant the loss of his ability to intimidate and to project his authority. He shivered with the cold, and O'Brien paced nervously in front of him. "Like I said - I'm sorry. But don't worry - you know this holosuite water isn't real anyway!" He laughed uncomfortably. "Come on - I'll buy you a drink." Garak forced himself to smile in return.

"It would appear, Chief, that you've gotten the better of me in this little - skirmish. I congratulate you." He extended his hand, which O'Brien shook warmly. "And... I look forward to the rematch."

"No hard feelings?"

"Of course not."

"Good." They left the holosuite and descended the stairs toward the bar. "You know, Garak, it took me a few minutes to get used to this new - face - of yours, but now I can truthfully say that I can hardly even remember what you used to look like." Garak felt himself grow pale.

"The surgery is only temporary, Chief. It HAS to be - the treatments won't continue suppressing my natural hormones for even as long as a year." O'Brien grunted in acknowledgment; Garak stole a sideways look at him. "I don't WANT to stay this way forever - I only meant it to BE temporary, for - personal reasons." O'Brien grunted again. Garak vowed to accelerate his  
plans so that his 'return' surgery could be scheduled within four months rather than six.

 

"It's all right, Garak, really. I understand. In fact, I was EXPECTING something like this to happen, when I heard about that regimen you were on." Garak sat up in bed and faced Bashir.

"Well, I admit that it thoroughly surprises ME. I hadn't been told about these particular side effects, I assure you."

"I don't know of too many cases like yours - it's possible your doctors really don't KNOW all the probable effects." Garak looked unconvinced.

"These are VULCANS, doctor, the foremost medical experts of your entire Federation - I can't believe something like this would have just gotten by them." Bashir tried to soothe him as he snuggled against him. "You can't say I wasn't willing, doctor. I was ready, willing, and - well, ALMOST able." Bashir laughed.

"It's all right, love, I told you, it's perfectly all right. In fact, I must admit to you that I'm happy about this, in a way."

"You are?" Garak cocked a suspicious human-style eyebrow at him.

"Yes. I'll be honest, you were always so aggressive before that I constantly felt intimidated by you, and even a little afraid of you. Even when I tried to be aggressive, too, it just wasn't the same - I never felt as if you considered me your equal, here in bed. You'd always control things in exactly the way you wanted and I couldn't do anything for you. Well, it appears we have an opportunity now to - even things out, as it were." He draped himself over Garak's body; Garak shrank back into the pillows.

"What - what are you suggesting?"

"That you relax now and let ME do all the work."

"All the WORK? Doctor - Julian, I assure you, it wasn't WORK -" He tried to slide even closer to the edge of the bed, but Bashir had taken hold of his shoulders and was pressing firmly against him.

"Where are you going, Garak?"

"I simply thought that -"

"You're not going anywhere. I'M not ready to go anywhere." Garak opened his mouth to protest, but Bashir had begun to bite him on the chin and lips and his words were lost inside Bashir's open mouth. Garak felt himself becoming aroused all over again - this time it would work, this time he'd be able to - Bashir obviously had other plans; he pivoted Garak around till he was partially lying on top of the Cardassian's back. Garak's eyes opened wide with shock and rebellion - 'If he thinks, even for one fraction of a second, that I'm going to let him -' His thoughts were drowned in a sudden rush of pain as Bashir, readied with Garak's own lubrication, attempted to thrust into him. "Oh no you DON'T," he bellowed, thrashing furiously in an attempt to dislodge Bashir and push him off. The attempt failed; Bashir's hold was proving to be impossible to loosen. Garak's muscles ached from the exertion of wrestling his partner; the thought that such relatively mild exercise could exhaust him was unnerving.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" he panted, after his thoughts had cleared. Bashir only grunted. The humiliation was almost intolerable, this 'being conquered' after his inability to conquer in return. Still, he couldn't deny that the thought of having such an appealing young man as Julian Bashir actually interested in him, actually experiencing such strong feelings of passion for him even now - He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the persistent visions of killing Bashir that were crowding his brain.


	5. Chapter 5

They awoke at the same time, curled next to each other, warmly nestled inside the blankets. Bashir yawned and stretched his arms, then let his hand fall to Garak's forehead and gently brush the hair back. Garak angrily grabbed his wrist.

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" Bashir mumbled sleepily.

"Don't - 'pet' me like that. I don't like it. It's humiliating."

"Oh, sorry," he answered in mock seriousness. "I forgot. Can't humiliate a Cardassian, now can we? Can't run our fingers through his pretty, soft hair and - " Bashir had laced his fingers tightly through Garak's hair and had raised himself up on his elbows, looking down at him.

"I said stop it!" 

Bashir only giggled, at which Garak grasped both the doctor's forearms and attempted to raise them above his head. Bashir  
pulled them free.

"You know what I just realized, Garak? Your skin is softening now, and that means - you're probably... " He brought both hands down to Garak's side and began to wriggle his fingers. Garak almost screamed at the sensation, as Bashir shouted, "TICKLISH!" He had never known a feeling in all his life quite like this painless torture - Cardassian skin was normally a little too thick to be very susceptible to the type of treatment Bashir was now administering. The more Garak bucked underneath him and cursed, the more Bashir's maddeningly gentle fingers swept his sides, his neck, and even his stomach, until Garak was almost blind with rage and frustration. Bashir began to laugh uproariously. "If I had known this would be so much fun -" he gasped; Garak finally managed to wriggle free and slapped Bashir hard across the face. The two sat up and glared silently at each other.

"That really wasn't necessary, you know," Bashir finally said, rubbing his cheek. Garak didn't answer. "If you can't take a little kidding, then why in hell did you give up your precious Cardassian physique?" He angrily began pulling his uniform on. "Oh, and if I were you, I'd contact those doctors and find out what to do about all these side effects. Good-bye, Garak." He stormed out the door. 

Garak lay back among the pillows and closed his eyes. You've overreacted, as usual, he told himself; why DID you do this, anyway? He sighed, then brought his hands up to his forehead. It felt entirely too smooth, too frighteningly smooth - there was hair where his ridges were supposed to be. His nose seemed tiny, and his ears jutted out from the sides of his head, completely unprotected by any outlining ridges of their own. It would be absurdly simple to just rip one off, by accident. But his neck and shoulders, also free of ridges - now THAT was unprotected, THAT was naked and defenceless. He growled as he climbed out of bed and stalked over to the comm system.

Twenty minutes later, he collapsed again onto the bed, on his back, and stared at the ceiling. His doctors had not been encouraging. "A certain impairment of - sexual functioning - is perfectly normal," they had told him. "Oh, and the skin sensitivity is also normal, a combination of the hormone treatments and the new skin pigmentation. Do not be concerned.  
Well, yes, the scales WILL tend to blend into the skin now, but that too is a purely temporary phenomenon - as soon as the treatments stop, your body will resume its previous appearance, with no permanent degeneration." Fine. If he continued the treatments, he could anticipate months as a weak, hypersensitive, impotent human male. If he didn't continue the treatments, he'd find his expensive human face marred by emerging ridges on his forehead and all around his eyes - he'd look like some freakish combination of human and Cardassian and would be shunned by both. Wonderful. He sighed loudly, then drifted back to sleep, where he was haunted by unsettling dreams during which he felt himself continually being menaced by Bashir. He had experienced few recent dreams more upsetting.

For three days, he avoided Bashir, and the doctor seemed to be avoiding him as well. Garak still had not opened his shop to the public; the thought of the hordes of customers he would now entertain, all no more than curiosity seekers and gawkers, was enough to make him almost resolve to leave the shop closed for the entire period of his transformation. But that plan, on the other hand, would cut a little too deeply into his income, after his expensive operation; he needed money with which to finance several trips to Cardassia as well. So he finally gritted his teeth and opened for business. As word of mouth spread, he was 'mobbed' just as he had feared he would be, by almost every inhabitant of DS9. Major Kira came to be fitted for a new coat - as soon as Garak tried to get near her, though, she almost collapsed with the effort of trying to stifle her laughter. Dax, too, put in an appearance at the shop.

"It's really very nice, Garak," she smiled.

"'It'?"

"Your face, I mean. You look completely human - no one would ever guess you weren't."

"Thank you - I think." He went back to sorting distractedly through a rack of clothing.

"You know," she crept up close behind him, "I heard Julian say that he kind of LIKES you this way... You may want to think about -" Garak froze in horror, then whirled around to face her.

"Where did you hear him say that, please?" She only smiled again, in her maddeningly mysterious way, and walked back out onto the Promenade. Garak stared after her for a full minute, then locked the door and ran to the comm system in his office.

"I strongly advise against that," the doctor told him patiently. "If you stop the hormone treatments now, your body will make its own adjustments in ways we can't begin to predict - in fact, you may find that the very problems you complain of may worsen rather than improve." So that was it - until he underwent the full surgery, he was locked in to this entire experience. He shuddered, then decided to go back to his quarters early and treat himself to some Cardassian novels. As he let himself out of the shop, he was startled by a familiar, deep and much-dreaded voice behind him.

"Excuse me, sir - is the shop closed already?" He blanched in horror, then turned slowly, very slowly, keeping his head down and his face hidden. 

"Yes - owner's gone home."

"What?"

Damn him - "Owner's gone home sick," he mumbled again, bringing his hand up to his mouth. Gul Dukat stared at him, amusement in his dark blue eyes.

"Has he? Well, I'm very sorry to hear that." He reached out and pulled Garak's hand away from his face; the move startled Garak, and he instinctively swung out at him; Dukat captured that arm, too, and regarded Garak with an almost gleeful expression on his face. He began to laugh; Garak angrily lurched back into the shop, Dukat hanging on to him. The doors closed behind them, shielding them from the Promenade. Garak struggled to free his arms, but found, to his horrified amazement, that he couldn't loosen Dukat's grip no matter how he tried. Dukat pulled him close to him and stared into his face, examining him.

"I always knew they'd manage to get to you one day. Living among them, working for them, being 'intimate' with them -" ('how does he know THAT?' Garak mused,) "yes, it was bound to affect your mind eventually. But then, I never thought of you as a 'true' Cardassian anyway. You always did seem a little - suspect." He smiled. "Maybe we're finally seeing the real you, the person underneath that Cardassian shell." Garak's lips curled into a sneer.

"I should think you of all people know of plenty of reasons one might do this. This is a TEMPORARY change, Dukat - it can be reversed any time I give the word. Perhaps I'm simply a little bolder than you are, able to handle something like this without falling back on all the cliches you love to spout." Dukat's fingers were digging painfully into his arms as he struggled again to free himself. "Now, if you wouldn't mind - you've seen me, you've satisfied your morbid curiosity, so get out of my shop." Dukat  
finally released Garak's arms and stepped back slightly, as he continued to regard him.

"This has to do with your exile, doesn't it?"

"A few months with a human appearance will hardly solve the problem of my exile, Dukat."

"No... perhaps not. But then again, it's hard to know what you're planning in that devious brain of yours." He thought for a moment. "Ah! I have a question, then. Why become a human male? Why not simply become a Cardassian female? I'm certain THAT operation could be permanent, and you could live on Cardassia again in happiness and peace." He smiled sarcastically. "A brilliant suggestion, wouldn't you say?" Garak didn't answer; he shouldered Dukat out of the way and attempted once more to leave the shop. Dukat followed him into the corridor.

"Yes, that would have been the solution, Garak - a Cardassian female. That would solve innumerable difficulties for you. Why - who knows?" He brightened. "I could even be of some assistance there - I could claim you as one of my - consorts. You'd have passage on my ship, you could go anywhere you wanted - ah, but I'd expect quite a bit of payment in return, for my kindness." He began to laugh under his breath. Garak stared straight ahead, then swung out savagely at Dukat; both men collapsed into a  
heap on the floor of the corridor, struggling and rolling over each other. "Security to the promenade!" Garak heard someone shout, as Dukat landed a particularly stunning blow to his jaw.

"Gentlemen, please!" Odo shouted, as he struggled to separate the two men. They had drawn a little crowd as they fought; Garak, even in the haze after Dukat's punch to his face, heard several expressions of sympathy for the "human" being attacked by the Cardassian. He continued trying to defend himself against Dukat's blows, but found he could do almost nothing but attempt to pin the other man's arms down; he could summon up little strength to land any effective blows of his own. Odo finally succeeded in stopping the fight, and both men got to their feet, panting.

"Don't tell me," Odo sneered, turning to Garak, "HE started it, right?"

Garak, still panting, couldn't speak, but gave Odo a withering glance. Dukat waited nearby, a supercilious smile on his face, completely ignoring the negative comments his presence had caused. "The argument, Mr. Odo," he began, "was between Mr. GARAK and myself." A gasp went up from the few onlookers who knew of Garak but not of his new appearance. "There's no  
need to involve yourself in our disagreement. I'm sorry for any disruption we may have caused to your little - facility." He smiled again, confidently; Garak was reminded that Odo had until recently been an actual employee of Dukat. And one thing Dukat could never be accused of was failing to take advantage of any situation - Garak wanted him to be thrown off the station but knew there was little hope of that. Bashir sprinted up to them, breathless; he had evidently been nearby, having dinner at the replimat, and had heard the commotion.

"What's going on?"

"It appears that our two Cardassian friends are having one of their usual disagreements," Odo replied scornfully; the 'crowd' had begun to disperse, leaving the four men alone in front of the shop door. Odo led them back inside, as Bashir placed a finger on Garak's swelling jaw, examining it.

"Garak, this may be broken - you'll have to come back with me to the infirmary." 

"Impossible," Dukat scoffed. "I suspected that Mr. Garak would be even more delicate than usual after his little 'surgery,' so I did NOT use full force. In fact, HE started the whole thing - I was simply trying to defend myself and stop him from hitting me." The mocking tone behind his words was impossible to ignore; Odo rolled his eyes.

"Did you, as he says, 'start the whole thing,' Garak?"

"I... I suppose I did, Odo," he mumbled through his increasingly swollen mouth.

"Why?"

Garak hesitated. Dukat would twist whatever he said to make him look like the fool as well as the one responsible. "It's not important, just - something personal between the two of us." Dukat smiled triumphantly.

"All right," Odo said, resignedly. "It appears you're both at fault - I want you to stay away from each other during the remainder of Dukat's visit to the station, which I'm told will be brief. Correct?" Dukat nodded. As Bashir led Garak away in the direction of the infirmary, Dukat called after them, "Oh, Garak, remember my offer - it still stands. I'll be waiting eagerly for your reply." Garak fought the urge to turn around and lunge for him again, as Odo hurried Dukat away in the other direction.


	6. Chapter 6

"So what was all that really about?" Bashir finally asked, after a moment or two.

"What do you SUPPOSE, doctor?" Garak gingerly felt his sore jaw with his fingers. "He found my new appearance ridiculous and degrading."

"Well, you must certainly have expected that he WOULD - what was the great mystery? Surely you could have prepared yourself for that - you can't fight Dukat now, in your condition!" he exclaimed, incredulous.

"My 'condition,' doctor?"

"Yes, yes, your... current, somewhat weakened state, your... Garak, you KNOW what I mean!" Garak stared at him; Bashir changed the subject slightly, as they reached the infirmary. "Will you ever tell me the real reason why you did this? I'm your friend, Garak - I like to think I'm your BEST friend. If you won't tell ME, well then... " He let the sentence trail off.

Garak sighed as he settled back into Bashir's examination chair. "Doctor - if you were told you could never see your home again, never be among your own people without facing charges of committing a serious crime, most likely punishable by death... what would you do?" Bashir had been running a tricorder near the side of Garak's face; he stopped and considered the question.

"Well, I suppose I'd... I really don't know. Resign myself to it, I guess. Try to be happy in my new life."

"Would you, doctor? With no regrets?"

"Well, of COURSE I'd have regrets." The tricorder had been replaced by a dermal regenerator, which made a comforting sound as Bashir passed it over Garak's face. The jaw had luckily not been broken. "Garak - surely you've gone to a tremendous amount of trouble just to see Cardassia again. Why, your experiences just in the past week with the SIDE effects of your hormone therapy must not have been very pleasant."

"No, doctor, they weren't." He glanced up at Bashir, who did not realize that Garak had been partially referring to him as well. He sighed again. "But, doctor, seeing Cardassia is not really the issue - don't you yourself always say that people are what are truly important, not places?" Bashir nodded, troubled about the direction in which the conversation was headed. He had always wondered about the people Garak had been forced to leave behind - family, friends... children... He waited expectantly, holding the regenerator much longer than necessary against Garak's face.

"Well, I want to see certain - people - again, just see them, know they're all right, perhaps find out what they really think of... their dishonored son."

Bashir looked at him, shocked but also relieved. "Your parents, Garak?"

"My parents, doctor." He sat, unmoving, staring straight ahead. He had no need to explain the reality just yet, and all the implications that mentioning his parents would normally entail. Let the doctor think whatever he wished to think.

Bashir gulped. His own relationship with his parents was far from perfect; what would it feel like, though, to know that he could never see them again, couldn't even safely contact them from DS9 without breaking the terms of an exile? Would he miss them enough to surgically change his appearance too, and endure all the indignity that Garak was presently enduring? Would he?

"Ah, Garak," he began, his mind overflowing with questions and confusion, "why do you need to look like a HUMAN to visit Cardassia again? Why not just make a few adjustments to simply change your Cardassian appearance? Surely that would have been a lot easier than THIS." He handed Garak a mirror, gently touching the area he had just healed.

"I don't want to die, doctor. I wanted to be completely transformed, so that no one, NO ONE, would ever suspect me. And since I needed a model to follow, a way to choose a likely non-Cardassian species, what better choice than to emulate my best friend?" He smiled at Bashir, who smiled back uncertainly.

"Garak, you didn't change your voice in any way - you may LOOK human, but anyone who knew you before will be able to tell it's you."

"I doubt the Cardassian authorities will be so suspicious of their human guests that they'll even screen their VOICES, looking for me. No, I wanted to be recognizable in some way to my parents, assuming I deem it safe to make any kind of direct contact with them at all." Assuming they don't kill me when they hear my voice, he thought ruefully. That particular reason for visiting Cardassia was probably his lowest priority, but he didn't want to disillusion his new friend just yet. Bashir smiled again.

"When are you planning to return?"

"In a few weeks. I had to be sure to allow enough time for all the - physical adjustments - I needed to make. And, as you know, I do have several months in which to schedule this journey. I may even decide to go back more than once; I'm not certain yet." Bashir nodded.

"I'd like to go with you, if I may."

"Doctor -"

"Garak, I'd like to go. I have a feeling that any trip like this will be somewhat difficult for you - I don't mean physically, I mean emotionally, and I'd like to go along to support you." Garak, touched by the young man's compassion, deemed it wisest not to mention that there were many other, less sentimental, reasons for his return to Cardassia - while he hadn't been totally lying about his parents, he doubted that Bashir would be equally moved by his plans to find and harass several of his old associates as well. The good doctor could be amazingly uncomprehending about such matters.

"Thank you - Julian," he said, as he rose from the chair. "I appreciate your offer - and your help." He began walking toward the door.

"Are you going home?" Bashir asked him softly.

"Of course." He paused at the doorway leading out from the examination room.

"Mind if I join you? I'm finished here for the day - in fact, I was finished before this, until you decided to attack Dukat." Garak turned around to see Bashir smiling timidly at him; the affection in the younger man's eyes melted his heart, and he smiled back, in invitation. They walked companionably toward Garak's quarters, talking together of inconsequential things; once inside, however, Bashir threw both his arms around Garak's neck and began to kiss him. "I'm sorry about the other morning, Garak - I suppose I did go a little too far. You're not USED to things like that yet, are you?"

"No, Julian, I certainly am not. But - I too am sorry. I - overreacted somewhat."

"Yes, you did," Bashir laughed, his face pressed against Garak's chest. "I was a little surprised at you." His arms fell away from Garak's neck and slid down to his waist. "If you only knew how much fun it is to explore this virgin un-tickled territory -" He slid his fingers underneath Garak's shirt and began wriggling them up Garak's sides to his arms, before Garak could react.

"STOP IT, doctor! I said stop it!" He tried to push him away, but Bashir's arms were trapped underneath his shirt; they were locked together, in effect, as Bashir continued his assault.

"I was just WAITING for a chance to get you again! I was going to do it in the infirmary, after I knew you weren't hurt - " At Garak's enraged look, he withdrew his hands and backed away. "Umm - sorry. Again."

Garak glared at him. Bashir's boldness with him was beginning to alarm him; was his Cardassian appearance the only reason he commanded respect - once that was gone, so was his dignity? He had never anticipated such an outcome. Perhaps he should never have returned to DS9 at all during this period - he had neither the funds nor the inclination, though, to abandon it for six months. He'd have to do his best to assert his former authority in any way he could, as he went about life on the station. The resolution was strangely comforting - he assumed it wouldn't be difficult to put into practice, once he was determined to do so.

However, he soon discovered that his plan would not be at all easy to put into practice anywhere on the station, not in the replimat, not in his shop or in the holosuites, and most definitely not in the bedroom. To his somewhat uncomprehending amazement, Bashir had become more demanding than he had ever been before, less willing to submit to his Cardassian partner. One evening, Garak playfully tried to restrain him; it had formerly been an occasional, enjoyable activity for the two of them. 

This time, Bashir refused. "What, and I'm supposed to patiently lie here for three hours while you try to work up a little passion?" Garak's face reddened at the insult. "No thank you, Garak - I've got a much better idea. I'll tie YOU up. It makes a lot more sense from a practical standpoint, and I promise that you'll enjoy it too!" Garak had angrily climbed out of bed and spent the rest of the night on the sofa - Bashir refused to return to his own room. "Damn it, Garak, I'm not running off scared every time I wound your mighty Cardassian pride. Get used to it - you look like a human, now you know what it's like to be treated like one too." Garak couldn't deny the truth of that.

He also couldn't deny the fact that his bodily ridges and scales were becoming more indistinct every day. In some places, they blended so well into the surrounding skin that Garak could hardly remember how they had formerly appeared. It was unsettling, to say the least, if not actually frightening. What was also unsettling was Bashir's bland acceptance of the changes to his body. Garak recalled Dax's words - 'I heard him say he likes you even better this way.' Was it possible? He resolved, one evening, to find out.

"Julian," he cooed, tracing a finger down Bashir's back as they lay side by side in bed, "what would you say if I told you I was thinking of making this a permanent change?" Bashir mumbled indistinctly. "What was that? I'm afraid I didn't hear you."

"I said fine."

"Fine? You like me this way?"

"Yes, I think I do. I've gotten so used to it, in fact, that I think I'll be sad to give it up."

"'It'?"

"Your human appearance. I like it, Garak, I really do." He was fully awake now and raised himself up onto his side, facing Garak. "In fact, now that you brought it up... I was going to ask you about this very thing. Would it bother you terribly much if - if you had to stay this way?"

"Julian," he said, alarmed, "I CAN'T stay this way. We both know that; the doctors who performed this surgery on me were very clear about that."

"Then why did you even ask me how I felt about it?"

"As a sort of - test." Garak stared unhappily at the ceiling. A test you've failed miserably, my dear doctor -

"Ah. A test. Well then, I have a test for YOU, love - " He sprang forward and pinned Garak's arms above his head, then shoved his wrists into cuffs that he himself had finally and grudgingly consented to wear just hours before. Garak, not expecting the attack, began to struggle too late; before he knew it, he had been buckled into the straps and was practically helpless. This was too much, this was entirely too much. Bashir had crouched down at the foot of the bed and had managed to pin down one of Garak's wildly thrashing legs, too - the Cardassian again found, to his horror, that his struggles served only to tire him, rendering him even easier to subdue. He lay motionless, watching Bashir suspiciously as he reclined once more beside him.

"There. Surprised you, didn't I, my love?" Garak only nodded, his eyes wide. "And you're probably wondering what I'm going to do now, what 'indignities' I'm planning to inflict on your distinguished Cardassian person - isn't that so?" Garak didn't even nod this time. "Well, let's see." Bashir trailed a hand lazily down Garak's chest, letting it rest just below his waist. "What would you do to ME, if I were the one in this position? Oh, pardon me, I forgot - I AM usually the one in this position!"

"Julian," Garak began, but Bashir cut him off.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a human with just a little scarring on your chest." He had begun lightly massaging Garak's stomach and torso, now marked only faintly by traces of Cardassian scales. "This certainly feels wonderful - you used to scrape me quite mercilessly, love. But I know it wasn't intentional." His fingers continued to trace the almost-indistinguishable patterns.

"Julian," Garak began again, "you've made your point - this is serving no purpose except to humiliate me, and we both know it. So - I'm sorry I sometimes failed to take your wishes fully into account, I really am. But if it's revenge you want - "

"I don't want revenge." Bashir slid closer to Garak, raising himself slightly so he could better caress him. "I just want to show you how enjoyable being human can be. You'll love it; I promise you, you'll love it." His touches became more insistent. Garak strained against the cuffs.

"I'm not 'human,' Julian - I had a little PLASTIC SURGERY, remember? What's gotten into you? If I had shaved my head, would you have called me a Deltan?" Bashir laughed as he began to massage the area around Garak's soft pink nipples in a circular motion; Garak practically tore the restraints off of the bed in his anguish.

"Oh, come now, I'm not hurting you," Bashir smiled. "Just relax."

"I - WILL - kill you," Garak furiously panted. "I will hunt you down, and when I find you, I WILL kill you - I'll - " Bashir leaned over till his face was centimeters above Garak's. 

"Oh, no, please - spare me. This is just a little 'test,' remember? I wanted to see if you could take it as well as dish it out. Well, I got my answer - you're certainly easy to frighten. If a little TOUCHING bothers you, just think how I feel when you get rougher with me. Just THINK, love." He had taken each nipple between a finger and thumb; Garak fought to keep from screaming. "But I don't need to get rough at all with you, do I? In fact - "

"You said you LIKED that," Garak managed to interrupt him, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

"I would have liked it more if you had ever taken your turn once in a while, but no. Not the big, intimidating, aggressive Cardassian - oh, no, not you. That's what we humans are for, right? Well, welcome to the club, Garak." He brought his lips down to Garak's chest and began to gently bite at the nipples he had hardened with his massages; this time, Garak DID scream, causing Bashir to raise his head and smile. "I KNEW you couldn't take it!"

"Julian," Garak begged, "don't make me kill you. Because I WILL, I swear to you, I'll - "

"Yes, I know, you'll hunt me down and kill me. I'm very frightened; why, my heart is almost pounding out of my chest, I'm so terrified." He reached out and gently brushed the hair back from Garak's forehead. "Oh, and did I ever tell you what I do to people who threaten to kill me?" He sat up once more and placed a hand on either side of Garak's waist. "Pardon me - I meant: did I ever SHOW you what I do to people who threaten to kill me?" Garak closed his eyes and prayed fervently for the nightmare to end; Bashir was obviously insane - all this time, he had been hiding it, but the strain had finally caused him to crack - An evil grin spread over Bashir's face. "I - do - THIS!" he shouted triumphantly, as he began to madly tickle his captive. Garak's shrieks, and Bashir's victorious laughter, could almost be heard down the corridor.


	7. Chapter 7

"Please repeat your last statement, Mr. Garak." Doctor Solkar's image glowered at him from the viewscreen.

"I stopped taking the hormone suppressors."

The doctor looked nonplussed, almost an impossibility for a Vulcan. "Mr. Garak, this - this is really most unheard of. That treatment was an integral part of your surgery, of your transformation. By arbitrarily discontinuing it, you have effectively destroyed your ability to successfully appear human - in fact, your Cardassian physical characteristics will very soon begin to reassert themselves, and the results will be neither pleasant nor predictable."

Garak smiled to himself. This was exactly the response he had hoped to receive. "Doctor, you'll pardon me for not sharing your concern, but I find the side effects of the medication a little too much to bear. I'm losing muscle mass and strength, I tire easily, I've discovered that even my BODY no longer appears fully Cardassian - "

"Yes, yes," Solkar broke in, "that is all perfectly normal for the type of surgery you've undergone. I've explained to you repeatedly that all these changes will be reversed in the proper time. Now you've suddenly revised that timetable - I woud say you have less than a week before your facial ridges begin reappearing." Garak smiled again. He couldn't WAIT for his facial ridges to begin - reappearing. "And," Solkar continued, "you didn't alert me ahead of time concerning this decision you've made. I cannot schedule you for surgery for at least two weeks."

"Fine," Garak replied. "I can wait. Please let me know the date of the surgery as soon as possible, though, so I can arrange for my return trip to Vulcan." He paused. "Doctor, I do appreciate all you've done for me. You performed a truly remarkable transformation. In fact, your success is probably the reason I was never able to adjust to my new appearance after all - I was so completely changed, not just in my own eyes but in the eyes of everyone with whom I came in contact." Solkar nodded curtly, obviously still displeased, as Garak ended the transmission. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. So. That was it, then. No more human face, at least not after the end of the week, no more mocking glances from his customers and practically everyone else on the station, no more derisive comments from Dukat and other Cardassians, no more threats from Bashir -

Bashir. With a satisfied smile, Garak leapt to his feet and swiftly left his shop for the replimat; the doctor was probably there having lunch even now. He began to gloat - he could almost FEEL more 'Cardassian' already; he imagined the ridges starting to form underneath the skin of his forehead and neck, the scales sprouting up on his chest and thighs. He flexed his muscles as he walked - was he imagining that, too, or did he even seem stronger somehow? Bashir, as he had hoped, was sitting alone at their usual table, a medical journal in front of him, a cup of tea in his hand. He brightened when he saw Garak, and his eyes held a merry twinkle.

"Garak! It's good to see you at last! Have you come to thank me?"

Garak was aghast. "THANK you?!"

"You're welcome," Bashir grinned. "Actually, I must confess that I HAD been wondering when you were going to get around to it."

"My dear doctor," Garak spluttered, "may I ask what you're talking about?" He lowered himself into a chair and stared in disbelief at Bashir.

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. I think we've found the answer, my love, to your little difficulties in the bedroom. And it involves no medical intervention on my part whatsoever."

"Please - lower your voice!" Garak hissed as he wildly turned to glance at the other diners. Bashir seemed oblivious to his embarrassment.

"You can't deny - although I know you'll try to - that you've never BEEN more aroused than I made you feel two nights ago."

"Doctor - please; I was not 'aroused,' I was undergoing a normal Cardassian reaction to being attacked and tortured by an opponent - "

"I'm not talking about the tickling, I'm talking about what I did afterward." He grinned conspiratorially. "Face it, Garak - you LIKE what I did to you, you LIKE relinquishing control. You LOVED it, in fact. This is going to be the start of a whole new relationship for us - one which I am only too willing to begin." He folded his arms and smiled. "Shall I stop by tonight, after work? And continue the... therapy?"

"No, doctor." Garak felt his anger begin to well up. "Not tonight, not tomorrow, not for the rest of the week. But after that - yes, I think I should be ready for you."

"What do you mean, 'ready for me'?"

"I mean, my dear Julian, that your human 'plaything' is not going to remain human any longer. I've stopped the hormone suppressors, and in two weeks, I will undergo the surgery to return me to my former appearance. But in only a few days, you'll find some of my Cardassian physical characteristics already returning - putting an end, I might add, to any 'difficulties' I may have been experiencing in the bedroom as well as to your generous offers of assistance." He grinned savagely.

Bashir looked crestfallen. "Garak, you can't be serious! This is much too soon! You haven't gone back to Cardassia even ONCE, you haven't given yourself time to get used to this new appearance - "

"It seems that YOU, on the other hand, had no trouble getting used to it. I'm sorry, Julian, but I couldn't tolerate being human any longer; as a Cardassian, I couldn't adjust to the reactions I was receiving." Bashir began to protest; Garak held up his hand. "No, I'm sorry, nothing you say will change my decision. I will not go back on it. I'm sorry about all the money I wasted, but I see now that I should have thought this through much more carefully. It's my fault." He paused for a moment in reflection. "The doctors on Vulcan may have erred in not adequately preparing me psychologically, but I do not put the blame on them. I insisted on the surgery, for what I believed at the time to be valid reasons. And now I'm ending the experiment. It's as simple as that."

"Aww, GARAK," Bashir loudly groaned. Garak shushed him. "I LOVED your new face, I really did. I loved the old one, but I was crazy about the new one too - and now you're taking it away from me when I've just barely begun to enjoy it."

"I'm sorry, Julian. But it wasn't just my face, it was beginning to include my entire body, and *I* didn't enjoy it." Bashir looked disconsolate. At that moment, Miles O'Brien entered the replimat, spotted the two at their table, and hurried over to them.

"Garak!" he greeted him heartily. "I'm glad I found you! Quark has just installed a new holosuite program I ordered for us. I was wondering if you'd be interested in trying it out this afternoon."

"What sort of program?" Garak asked suspiciously.

"A very exciting one, very moody and suspenseful. We play two brothers, you see," he enthusiastically warmed to his subject, "who live in the same house, a creepy old house. I'll be your evil younger brother who lives upstairs - the thing is, you don't even KNOW I'm living there - and I'm after your wife - I thought we could see if Keiko or Dax wanted to join us - "

"No, I'm sorry." Garak angrily rose to his feet. "No more holosuite adventures for a few days, Chief." At O'Brien's disappointed look, he hastened to add, "It's just that I'm not feeling completely 'myself' right now. I've stopped taking the medication I was given, so I'll have to be careful for the next several days, and see how things progress."

"Of course, Garak. No problem. I'm sorry to hear that you don't feel the surgery was a success, though."

Oh, it was a success, all right, Garak fumed. If being a success means allowing you and Bashir and a hundred other people to walk all over me and belittle me every chance you get, then the operation was a roaring success.

"It isn't that, Chief. It's only that I miss being Cardassian much more than I thought I would." O'Brien nodded and went to order his own meal. "You'll excuse me, doctor?" Garak asked Bashir, who still stared down at the table, a disconsolate expression on his face.

"Fine," Garak thought, "good-bye to you too." He quickly walked back to his shop.

The next four days were uneventful; in fact, they were almost TOO uneventful. Try as he would to convince himself, Garak knew deep down that there was absolutely no evidence that a Cardassian transformation was taking place. His muscle weakness, his human-style skin and facial features - all were unchanged and even, perhaps, becoming more pronounced as the days progressed. He found himself lowering the air temperature in his quarters by a few degrees each day, till it was at a comfortable 'human' level, and even THAT sometimes felt too warm if he had been exerting himself. It was all exceedingly troubling, as was the fact that his personal attempts to test his sexual functioning inevitably ended in failure as well. He began to spend more and more time in his shop, not to bask in the stares of the station inhabitants but to take his mind off of his more immediate and upsetting concerns. He was idly trimming fabric around a pattern when he heard the door hiss open and an all-too-familiar voice address him.

"Excuse me. I'm looking for Mr. Garak."

"You know damned well, Dukat, that I'M Mr. Garak. What do you want here, may I ask? Don't you remember the warning you were given by Constable Odo?"

"Ah, yes, I remember Odo saying something about staying away from you, since you're unable to defend yourself now." His face assumed a concerned expression. "How are you, anyway, Garak? Feeling better? Or would it be more correct to ask, feeling worse?"

"How I feel is really none of your business. But you MAY be pleased to learn that I'll shortly cease to be an object of amusement to you or to anyone else."

"You're not thinking of KILLING yourself!" Dukat exclaimed, with mock gravity. "Dear me, that WOULD be an unfortunate ending to your little human charade."

"No, Dukat, my 'little human charade' is ending in exactly the way it was supposed to end all along - I've discontinued the suppressing of my Cardassian hormones, and in approximately one week, I'll be undergoing the surgery that will restore my Cardassian appearance as well."

Dukat couldn't entirely hide the look of disappointment that flashed across his face; he composed himself quickly, however, and addressed Garak again. "Well, then, tailor, it appears that I have the honor of being the bearer of some wonderful news for you."

"And what is that?" Garak eyed him suspiciously. Dukat cleared his throat in preparation for his speech.

"The Detapa Council, in appreciation of your efforts on its behalf, as well as your loyalty to the Cardassian state and your obedience to the terms of your exile, has... suspended those terms. You are free to return to Cardassia."

Garak blinked, then stared at Dukat in frank and shocked amazement. Dukat's expression never changed. "Are - are you SAYING," he finally began, "that they're letting me go BACK there?" Dukat nodded. "You're obviously joking. Or, no, you're not joking - you're completely serious, you want me to return to Cardassia and face execution while you claim the best seat in the observation gallery." He felt relief mingling with his disappointment - if the news was, as he expected, false, at least he hadn't wasted much time planning and dreaming about his return. It was a good thing, after all, that Dukat HAD been the one to invent this story - if it had come from anyone else, the lie would have been that much more difficult to detect and the disappointment would have been that much more crushing.

Still, Garak had seen Dukat lie on many other occasions, and it was one of the few things he did not do well, unlike his Obsidian Order rival. His eyes would shift as he found it difficult to face the other person, his breathing would almost imperceptibly increase, his hands would begin to move a little more restlessly - but Dukat was staring at him now, calm and collected. Something was definitely not right. Dukat began to speak.

"Believe me, Garak, there are few things I'd like better than to see you come to your just reward. But I only today heard this news and, in my unexplainable and contradictory way, I wanted to be the first one to tell you. You did, after all, come to my assistance when I thought there was no hope. It would appear that you are now receiving a just reward of another kind." He extended his hand. Garak gaped at him for a few seconds, then strode forward and clasped his hand. "Congratulations," Dukat muttered, with a nearly undetectable but completely sincere smile spreading over his features. Garak felt a lump in his throat. After his visitor had gone, he sank down into a chair near the counter and buried his face in his hands.

No, it wasn't possible - Dukat had simply discovered some new and more effective method of lying. Still, if there was any hope, any chance at all - The comm unit near the counter chirped.

"Sisko to Mr. Garak. I'd like to see you in my office as soon as possible."


	8. Chapter 8

Garak had never in his life felt such overwhelming joy, such a feeling of freedom and release and sheer, unadulterated happiness. It was true - Captain Sisko and even Starfleet itself had confirmed it. The Obsidian Order had been formally disbanded after centuries of operation on Cardassia, and the civilian government had granted an unconditional pardon to all of the Order's former operatives, including one Elim Garak, exiled to Terok Nor, now known as Deep Space Nine. Garak didn't know where to turn, what to do first. He had to share this news, this joy, with someone, anyone - but who on the station was interested enough in him to even care? He instinctively directed the turbolift to the best destination open to him, wherein waited the one person who WOULD care - Julian Bashir. Garak rushed into the infirmary, breathless with excitement. Bashir was alone at the computer.

"Julian! Julian! You won't believe - you'll never guess - "

"You're allowed back on Cardassia." He managed a halfhearted smile. "Sorry, Garak, for not letting you surprise me, but Captain Sisko told me the news an hour ago."

"You don't seem - very happy for me, doctor."

"I'm happy, Garak, believe me - I am. I know this is what you've wanted for years, why you even went through this SURGERY, for God's sake. So don't pay any attention to me - I'm VERY happy for you, my friend." He approached Garak and wrapped both arms around his waist, then leaned his head against his chest; an almost imperceptible sigh escaped him.

"Julian, please - don't worry, I'm not going to disappear there and turn my back on you. I may not even go back there to LIVE; I have a good business here, I may stay here and - "

Bashir reached up and placed his hand on Garak's cheek. "You'll live there eventually, my love - don't try to convince me you won't. You've never liked it here; you've always told me it's unfriendly, and boring, and cold... "

"Not lately," Garak admitted. "I'm finding it almost uncomfortably WARM here, as a matter of fact. But, Julian, we WILL be able to preserve our relationship - you know that, don't you? Nothing in the universe, not even Cardassia, is more important to me than that." Bashir had pulled away slightly and was looking up into Garak's face, confused.

"What did you say?"

"I said nothing in the universe is more important to me than - "

"No, no, before that. Something about being warm. You said you're too WARM lately?" Garak nodded uncertainly. "But, Garak, that's impossible! As your Cardassian hormones take over, your body temperature should decrease and the air should be feeling colder and colder to you here." He reached over to the counter and picked up a medical tricorder, then adjusted it and held it near Garak's chest as he stared, frowning, at the readouts.

"Garak - when did you discontinue the hormone suppressors?"

"Oh, I don't know, doctor - four, five days ago. Why?" Something in Bashir's tone was making him uneasy.

"Well, I can't be sure, of course, just with tricorder readings, but it would APPEAR that your body is continuing to suppress your natural hormones, and in fact is manufacturing increasing levels of the synthetic human hormones the Vulcans gave you. I think I'm right about this, Garak; you're still becoming more and more human by the day."

"Give me that." Garak grabbed the tricorder out of Bashir's hand and stared at the readouts, not comprehending. "That's - that's not possible, doctor. You and I both KNOW that. I'm a Cardassian - I simply had a little surgery to change the appearance of my FACE, but I'm still a Cardassian! You can't say I'm a human just because I may LOOK like one!" He began to panic at Bashir's resolute expression.

"I'm not saying you're a human, Garak, I'm simply saying that your body is now manufacturing human rather than Cardassian hormones. I'm sure it's nothing that your doctors haven't already run into many times before. We'll contact them, get their advice about this, go back to Vulcan if necessary - "

"YES, it's 'necessary,' doctor! This should not be happening! There's no way this could possibly be happening! Are you sure that the tricorder is calibrated properly?" Bashir didn't answer, but stared at Garak with concern.

"Relax, Garak. I'm sorry I even brought it up now, to spoil your mood. Things are going to work out perfectly - you know yourself that the Vulcans would never perform this surgery on you if there was any doubt or uncertainty at all about the outcome. So - please don't worry. We'll go to dinner and celebrate your return to the good graces of the Cardassian government - "

"No, doctor - if you'll excuse me, I really don't feel much like celebrating any more. I need to contact Doctor Solkar - I MUST know what's causing this problem with my body." He stopped and then reflected, terrified, "If this continues, I may never be able to set foot on Cardassia at ALL. I'm becoming more and more intolerant to heat, I'm weak and will be unable to function in its higher gravity, I'm - "

"Garak - Elim," Bashir soothed him, "you're getting yourself all upset over nothing. Whatever was done to you can be reversed. There is no such thing as incurable plastic surgery." He smiled. "Now - if you don't want to celebrate in public, why don't the two of us go back to my quarters and celebrate in private?" Garak flinched. "No, I promise you, this is YOUR night. Let's go." He took Garak's hand and began to lead him toward the door; as he did so, Garak caught a view of himself in a mirror mounted near the desk. A pair of frightened human eyes stared back at him; his skin was even rosier than usual, as it became flushed with heat and excitement. "Oh God," Garak thought, "please don't let this be the face I have to look at for the rest of my life." He allowed Bashir to guide him toward the turbolift; he failed to notice the troubled look in his friend's eyes.

 

"Mr. Garak." Garak turned from the worktable and saw Jemma entering his shop. He was not pleased to see her, or anyone else - he thought he had locked the door. His shirtsleeves were rolled up as he diligently attempted to put the shop and his remaining tasks in order before his departure for Vulcan. Perspiration lightly beaded on his forehead as he maneuvered several large bolts of fabric into place underneath the counter. "Do you need any help with that?" Jemma asked, approaching him. 

Garak froze, his expression ominously dark; Jemma, however, could not see him, as he was still crouched underneath the counter. "No - I think I can manage. But thank you anyway." He stood up and attempted a weak smile for her. "Is there... something I can do for you?"

"Actually, no. I just came here to apologize - and to wish you well."

"Wish me well?"

"Yes, I heard that you're going to be allowed to return to Cardassia now, and... despite what I said about Cardassians and everything, I know it's your home so I'm very happy for you." She fidgeted nervously.

"Why thank you - Jemma. You're most kind." He paused. "I too wish to apologize. I was not entirely - forthcoming - with you, several weeks ago."

"No, that's all right," she smiled, relieved. "It was my fault entirely. You were just sitting there enjoying your dinner - I'm the one who started it. And you know something?" Garak waited, expectantly. "You really ARE cute! I'm going to miss you."

"Oh. Well - thank you again." He bowed, and Jemma smiled once more as she turned and left the shop, her walk a little slower and a little more swaying than it had been when she entered. Garak sighed. If she only knew how difficult his return to Cardassia was actually going to be. In four hours, he was headed back to Vulcan, this time with Bashir, and he dreaded the heat he would encounter there; the fact that the gravity was lighter than it was on Cardassia was a small, but tangible, consolation. But he was beginning to find the station's ambient temperature too warm even by HUMAN standards - what was he turning into, some sort of ultra-human human? He shuddered, then returned to his work, his thoughts again in a tumult.

Four hours later, he waited with Bashir at the docking bay, ready to board the freighter that would take them to Vulcan and, Garak hoped, the return of his old identity. Bashir had sent Doctor Solkar the results of the tests he had been performing on Garak, tests which, even Garak knew, had only served to confirm his diagnosis. Solkar had hidden his own opinions well; in true Vulcan style, he had calmly instructed them to return to the hospital and avoid letting their fears take the place of logical reason. But Garak was governed by the passion and emotionalism of the Cardassians, not the cool logic of the Vulcans; he was almost beside himself with dread and suspense as he settled into his quarters with Bashir.

"It's not going to succeed, you know," he finally blurted out, throwing himself down into a chair. "It's hopeless."

"Garak!" Bashir crouched down next to him. "We haven't even begun our journey, and you're already proclaiming it a failure? You heard what the doctor said - this complication is unusual but nothing to be alarmed about. And I believe him; you should too." He reached a hand out to Garak's forehead, but Garak angrily pushed him away. "Come on now, relax. Why don't you lie down? We have a long trip ahead of us, and it won't do you any good to sit here and worry the whole time."

"Julian - if I want to 'sit here and worry,' that's my privilege, all right?" 

Bashir gave him a patronizing smile. "No, it's not all right. Come on - lie down, you've had a long day." He beckoned toward the narrow bunk. "I can't promise we'll be comfortable, but I'll try my best to make you THINK we are." He grinned. Garak returned the smile and moved over to the bed, as he began loosening his shirt.

"It's so HOT in here, though! Can't we do anything about it?"

"I'll check later." Bashir was already occupied with nibbling a path down the side of Garak's neck. "I'm so glad you're my patient, Garak - that gives me a perfect way to come along with you without further embarrassing you - nobody has to know you're my baby now, too!"

"Your WHAT?" Garak exclaimed, horrified, but Bashir was pulling him down onto the bed and his words were muffled against his shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9

"I'm sorry - I'm truly sorry." Solkar's smooth, impassive Vulcan face was beginning to reveal traces of worry that he did his best to conceal. "This has never happened before. As you know, Mr. Garak, there is always an element of risk involved in ANY surgery - the body may react in unforeseen ways, the anesthesia may cause damage, the healing process may not proceed normally - "

"Yes, I'm aware of all that," Garak interrupted him. He sat next to Bashir in front of Solkar's desk; the doctor had steepled his fingers and was avoiding their eyes, another signal that set off alarm bells in Garak's mind. "But can you please be more specific regarding my OWN surgery? What, exactly, has gone wrong?"

Solkar paused several seconds before replying. "We don't know." Garak felt the floor give way underneath him; he struggled for composure, and angrily shook off the hand Bashir had placed on his arm. "We really - do not know. Your body has assimilated the synthetic human hormones almost as if it had been 'craving' them all along - it is completely rejecting any of our attempts to re-introduce Cardassian metabolic processes. In fact, the test we performed to change your skin pigmentation showed us that, were we to restore your normal Cardassian coloring, your body would violently reject that as well and the results could be fatal. Mr. Garak," he leaned forward on the desk, "I think - we think - the best course of action for you now is to let things continue as they have been. As I said, any attempt to re-introduce Cardassian hormones or other biological tissue could harm you immeasurably."

Garak stared at the Vulcan doctor, speechless. The nightmare, far from being about to end, was only beginning - no words would form in his brain, no objections, no arguments, nothing - only the terror of knowing that he was locked into a human shell for all eternity. Solkar had gotten to his feet and came around the desk to stand in front of the two men. Bashir finally spoke, his eyes never leaving Garak's face.

"You can't be serious about this! It's impossible! Are you telling me that you can't even restore his outward appearance, precisely the way you changed it in the first place?"

"No, we can't. His body would reject any attempts to graft new bone or tissue or skin; even if we WERE to successfully give him the appearance of a Cardassian once more, his body has become human, for all intents and purposes. The artificially-introduced elements would slowly degenerate while human characteristics took over." Solkar picked up a padd from his desk. "Here - these are the results of our tests, doctor. I know that you, too, will have no choice but to agree with our prognosis."

Bashir angrily took the padd. "All right - we would like a second opinion. And a third."

"Of course, doctor. I never meant for it to appear that my word could not be challenged. We've already sent for Doctors T'lar and Sekel, from the Vulcan Academy of Science. They have been briefed about Mr. Garak's condition, and will be here tomorrow to examine the patient and offer their opinions. Don't... worry, Mr. Garak." He uncharacteristically placed a hand on Garak's shoulder. "If there is an answer to be found, they will find it. I simply do not want you to entertain any false hopes." Garak stared at the ground in a stupor. Bashir finally helped him to his feet and they staggered out of Solkar's office, Garak leaning against his friend as if he were an invalid.

"Julian, Julian, I can't. You don't understand, I can't do this."

"I know," Bashir soothed him, mindful of the glances they were attracting as they walked through the courtyard, Garak holding on to Bashir and almost crying. "The experts are coming here tomorrow, don't forget - they'll find a way to get you out of this."

"Will they?" Garak looked up at him. "SOLKAR is supposed to be the 'expert,' he and his team. If THEY think it's hopeless, well then... " He began to breathe more rapidly.

"Garak, listen to me." Bashir stopped and turned the Cardassian to face him. "Do NOT get all worked up over this - this is NOT important. You're not going to die, you're healthy, you have many friends, including ME - "

"I'm a laughingstock, doctor, an object of derision to the people on DS9, and will very soon be an object of derision to any Cardassian who learns of me. I will never be able to live on Cardassia again - the people will reject me, and the physical environment will be intolerable for me."

Bashir knew he shouldn't say it, but he did - "You can always make a permanent home for yourself on Earth, Garak."

"What, and banish myself forever from my own people, to live among strangers with customs and habits completely alien to me? You might as well tell me I should go live on Bajor - it would amount to the same thing."

"Well, I won't argue with you now, Garak." They had reached the door of their air-conditioned room and Bashir led them inside. "You're upset, you need to rest and get out of the heat for a while. Why don't you take a cool shower, while I look over these test results?" 

"Doctor, you've become awfully adept at ordering me around lately; have you noticed that?" Bashir blinked. "I'm not your child, and I am most definitely not your 'baby.'"

"All right, I'm sorry, it was only a suggestion. But please remember, Garak, that I just want you to be happy - that has always been my first priority, ever since I learned of this whole plastic surgery idea of yours. Let's try to forget about it this evening, shall we? We'll have dinner, go for a walk - no, too hot - go for a SWIM - "

Garak sank down onto the bed. "Yes, all right, I'll try not to think about it until tomorrow. These ARE Vulcans, after all - this is the reason I came here in the first place, their so-called 'medical expertise.'" Bashir smiled in agreement. "I suppose - I have nothing to worry about."

"Of course not. That's what I've been trying to tell you all along, love."

 

"No, you can't be serious. It is simply not possible." Bashir stared in horrified shock at the two Vulcan doctors sitting across from him. "I admit that I'm not an expert in this field, but - my GOD! A man undergoes plastic surgery, and you CANNOT reverse the effects?" Sekel nodded patiently. Garak was again in a sort of trance, his eyes glazed and his breathing rapid. Bashir glanced at him in concern, then turned back to Sekel. "This is completely ridiculous. RIDICULOUS. Surely there is SOME synthetic compound that you can use to build up his skeleton until the natural Cardassian structure takes over." The Vulcan shook his head.

"Mr. Garak's body is in a very - shall we say - 'delicate' state. We don't wish to exacerbate the problems he is experiencing psychologically, either, which is precisely what further unsuccessful surgery would do." T'lar interrupted him, "In fact, we were going to suggest an intensive program of counseling for him, to acclimate himself to his new appearance and identity."

"Do either of you have any idea of what you're SAYING?" Bashir began to shout at them. "This is a Cardassian! A Cardassian! He HAS no 'new identity;' he is NOT a human! For some reason which I still cannot begin to comprehend, you've made a permanent change to his appearance for which NO ONE here seems willing to take responsibility or offer an explanation." He glanced over at Garak once more. "He'll need counseling all right, but more to get over the shock of experiencing your incompetence than because of any fucking 'new identity' you've inflicted on him."

"Doctor - "

"All right, I'm sorry." He sank back down into his chair, defeated. He was completely helpless in this situation, as helpless as Garak - plastic surgery had never been his specialty, and the reason for a problem of this magnitude was completely beyond his comprehension. Garak began to stir slightly, and blinked rapidly at the doctors as they watched him, concerned.

"Mr. Garak, please allow us to tell you once more that we are truly sorry about this. Your case is the first of its kind we have ever experienced. All of the treatment we have extended to you in the past, and will offer in the future, will be at no cost to you."

"Wrong," he finally groaned. "You are completely, utterly wrong - there has been a GREAT cost to me. You've killed me. You never told me, never, that something like this could happen. If you had, do you seriously think I would have consented to it?"

Solkar had entered the room and had been listening to the exchange between Garak, Bashir, and the surgical experts he had invited; he finally addressed Garak, irritation creeping into his voice. "I feel I should remind you, sir, that the surgery was completely voluntary on your part; we warned you of every risk of which we were aware. We cannot be held responsible for every problem, every act of nature which could cause an outcome such as this. I remind you again, we ourselves consent to pay for the original surgery and any additional treatments you may require."

"Yes, you're CORRECT that you're going to be paying for these treatments!" Garak roared suddenly, startling the four doctors gathered around him. "You're going to do whatever it takes to make sure I look and feel like a CARDASSIAN again - I don't care how many operations I need to undergo, I don't care how much it costs you, I don't care what this does to your precious reputations - How dare you sit there, smiling at me with your smug Vulcan faces! You've turned me into a freak, did you know that? Does that make you happy?" Bashir had taken hold of his arm and tried to calm him; Garak was rapidly becoming hysterical.

"Shh, Garak, you're not a freak. The doctors will do all they can - they just told you that, remember? Nobody wanted to hurt you - this was all an accident. An accident." He put his arms around Garak's shoulders. "And, besides, being human is NOT so bad. You'll see. I'll help you in every way I can; we'll see that you get all the help you need. I mean it - you'll be fine, baby, I promise you; you'll be fine." He smiled and squeezed Garak's shoulder; Garak gaped at him, wide-eyed with horror.

"NO!" he screamed, catapulting himself over the desk toward the Vulcans. "I'm not going to let you get away with this! Do you hear me? You can't DO this to me! You can't just sit there and let this happen! You have to help me!" Solkar had begun to move toward the comm unit on the wall; Garak lunged for him and took hold of his leg, sinking to the floor and sobbing, "Please, help me! Please don't do this to me!"

"Mr. Garak - Mr. GARAK!" Solkar furiously tried to free himself from the Cardassian's grasp. "Let go of me. I'm warning you, Mr. Garak - Sekel, please summon Security and tell them to remove Mr. Garak from this office." Sekel approached the comm unit; Garak reached out for his leg as well but the Vulcan was able to elude him and opened the connection to the hospital security staff. Bashir watched the entire drama in disbelief - Garak, his baby, his new human beloved, was on the floor wrestling with a Vulcan almost a fourth larger than he was while two other Vulcans tried to pull them apart. He ran to Garak and crouched down next to him. "Garak, please stop this. Let go of him; he's doing all he can. We're ALL doing all we can." Two security officers burst into the room and took hold of the Cardassian's arms as well, but were unable to pry him loose.

"No, no, leave me alone," Garak wailed. "He has to help me - I have to convince him to help me!" He was aware of the shouts of the Vulcan doctors, the frantic exchanges between the guards, the beeping of the comm system, and Bashir repeating something to him, over and over and over - what was it? "Garak - Garak - wake up - wake up, Garak - Garak, please wake up - GARAK, WAKE UP!"

*****

He opened his eyes; he was soaked with perspiration, breathing rapidly, his heart pounding. His arms were wrapped tightly around the bedpost, while Bashir sat next to him, leaning against him, shouting "Wake up! Please, Garak, wake up!" Garak froze. The room, in the moonlight streaming in through the window, was unfamiliar, but the heat felt pleasant and comforting on his bare skin. He desperately tried to concentrate. Where were they? How did they get here? When had they left Solkar's office and come here - Ah. He remembered. They hadn't been in Solkar's office at all. He let go of the bedpost and brought a trembling hand up to his forehead. Ridges. Ridges and scales, all down his nose, across his chin, down each side of his neck. Glorious, magnificent, CARDASSIAN scales. Bashir watched him, understanding. Garak felt tears, hot and unfamiliar, begin to burn at the corners of his eyes. He turned and collapsed onto the pillows and let the tears flow. Bashir settled next to him, but stayed partially raised up on one elbow, watching him. He finally spoke.

"I guess... I guess... you had the same dream, right?" Garak only nodded, still too overcome with emotion to answer. "Whew." Bashir flopped down onto his back. "All I can say is - oh God. Oh GOD, Garak. You were actually going to go through with that."

"Julian - are any of those complications from the surgery even POSSIBLE? Or was it all a complete fabrication?"

"I'm not really sure. But whatever happened, it certainly SEEMED real - it scared the hell out of me."

"Me too," he managed to whisper. They lay side by side, in silence, for several more minutes; Garak felt himself begin to relive each day, each experience of his human transformation. He hurriedly jumped out of bed, and began to wildly pull on his clothing. "Come, doctor. We're leaving this place, NOW." Bashir promptly obeyed. After they had finished dressing and had flung their few belongings into a duffel bag, they swiftly ran down the hall toward the exit, stopping only to check Garak out of the hospital. Doctor Solkar was waiting for them at the desk.

"Gentlemen! It's very late; shouldn't Mr. Garak be sleeping, in preparation for his surgery tomorrow?" Garak was too stunned to answer; he stared, openmouthed, at Solkar, whose face, to his amazement, held the faintest indication of a smile.

"Doctor," Bashir answered, "you KNOW he's not going through with that operation. You knew it all along, didn't you? You managed somehow to get us to experience the same dream - it was all part of our psychological preparation, wasn't it?"

Solkar DID smile then. "Doctor Bashir, if all of our prospective patients were as easy to screen as your friend proved to be, we'd never be performing this type of surgery at all. Good evening to you both - and good luck to you, Mr. Garak, in your efforts to return to Cardassia. Live long and prosper." He extended his hand in the traditional Vulcan salute; Garak and Bashir tried to reply but simply stood gaping at him, then quickly departed. They rode a public transport into the city, planning to find lodgings where they could wait until a ship would become available to take them back to Deep Space Nine. The night seemed to be shrouded in an air of unreality; Garak basked in the delicious heat permeating his muscles even as he waited fearfully for THIS dream to end as well and the nightmare to return.

But reality was proving, at last, to be pleasant and unthreatening. He lay next to Bashir in bed later that same night, pulling the human close to his powerfully ridged Cardassian chest as he lay drifting in that blissful zone between waking and sleeping. "Tell me the truth, Julian," he mumbled.

"Hmm?" Bashir mumbled in return.

"You LIKED me as a human. Admit it."

Bashir smiled as he snuggled more closely against him. "Garak, for most of that dream from hell, I was just observing you, listening in on your thoughts, watching myself and totally unable to change what was happening in any way. Any reactions you ascribed to me came from YOUR fears, my love. You really thought I had it in for you."

"So you're saying you had absolutely nothing to do with what happened? Are you sure?"

"Perfectly. Now get to sleep. We've got a lot to do tomorrow." Garak settled back into the blankets and sighed contentedly. There was plenty of time later to find out for himself just what Bashir really thought of his Cardassian body - and his Cardassian psyche as well. The doctor had been taking a few too many liberties with him, even for a creation of his own imagination. Yes. There would be ample time to correct all those problems and restore order tomorrow. Garak smiled, pleased with himself. Lying next to him in the dark, Bashir smiled too, and waited. Just when he knew his partner was almost asleep and thus most vulnerable, he stretched out a hand toward Garak's neck. Even on a Cardassian, the neckridges were extraordinarily susceptible to - "Garak, your nightmare image of me certainly likes to do a lot of TICKLING, doesn't he?" Garak's eyes flew open.

"NO!!!" he screamed as Bashir attacked, laughing with relief.

 

The End - "We are such stuff as dreams are made on, and our little life is  
rounded with a sleep." 'The Tempest,' Act IV, Scene i


End file.
